


A Song of Home

by violasarecool



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Music, hawke mansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violasarecool/pseuds/violasarecool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>even though the amell estate only houses a single person left of the amell bloodline, hawke sometimes still feels like her family are there with her. perhaps it helps that there are others there to fill the empty house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song of Home

" _Oh ro soon shall I see them;  
__Oh he ro see them oh see them.  
__Oh ro soon shall I see them the  
__Mist covered mountains of home."_

"Ughhh, Carverrr, you're singing it wrong."

"What?" The little boy wrinkled his nose at his sister. "No I'm not."

"Yes you are," Bethany said stubbornly. "You have to sing it right if you're going to escape the dragon."

"I don't want to sing," Carver complained. "Why am _I_ the one captured by the dragon?"

"Because mages don't get caught," Bethany insisted. "Go on, sing it again. Or... I'll turn you into a frog."

"You can't do that," Carver said, but he hesitated upon seeing Bethany's grin. "You can't," he said more uncertainly. "Marian, can she do that?"

Hawke, sitting a few feet away, covered a grin. "Only bad people get turned into frogs," she said, winking at Bethany. "So if you're bad..."

Carver crossed his arms with a huff. "I don't believe you."

"Children!" Leandra called from the house. "It's time to wash up for dinner!"

"Okay!" Carver and Bethany called, climbing to their feet and running towards the house. Hawke followed them at a more leisurely pace, humming under her breath. It was a nice song, even if Carver didn't like to sing. 

* * *

_"There shall I visit the place of my birth  
_ _And they'll give me a welcome the warmest on earth  
_ _All so loving and kind full of music and mirth,  
_ _In the sweet sounding language of home._

_"There shall I gaze on the mountains again,  
_ _On the fields and the woods and the burns and the glens,  
_ _Away 'mong the corries beyond human ken  
_ _In the haunts of the deer I will roam."_

"Mistress?" Orana's voice broke into Hawke's reverie. "Mistress, are... are you alright?"

Hawke started, looked up at Orana, who watched her with some concern, her lute sitting in her lap. "I'm fine," Hawke said, wiping quickly at her eyes.

"Did I do it wrong?" Orana asked anxiously. "I know I'm not very good—"

"It was beautiful," Hawke said, smiling.

Orana blushed. "Thank you, mistress." She looked down at her lute, brushed a finger down the fretboard. "Do you sing?" she asked, glancing up at Hawke. "I could accompany you, if you like."

Hawke laughed, shook her head. "I'm an awful singer. I'd have all the cats in the neighbourhood crying, and then I'd have to answer to Anders."

"I'm sure you're not that bad," Orana said earnestly.

"That's alright," Hawke said with a smile, "we already have one good singer in the house, that's enough for me." She stood up, and Orana stood up as well.

"Are you going out today, mistress?" Orana asked, as Hawke glanced toward the door.

"Yeah, I've got a few things to take care of," Hawke said. "Don't stop because of me, though."

Orana smiled. "Okay. That _is_ a very pretty song you taught me."

Hawke nodded absently. "Mm."

_"Hail to the mountains with summits of blue,  
_ _To the glens with their meadows of sunshine and dew.  
_ _To the women and men ever constant and true,  
_ _Ever ready to welcome one home."_

She walked downstairs, Orana's voice carrying out over the landing; below, Sandal sat cross-legged on the floor, listening intently, and Bodahn bid her a hushed goodbye as Hawke prepared to leave. It was... nice, having people in the mansion, she thought, pulling her bag over her shoulder. She glanced at the portrait above the writing desk, the face of the man whose features so ressembled that of her mother's, with a hint of her brother's.

Bethany and Carver would have liked it here, she decided, pulling the front door closed behind her. And somehow, even without their voices filling the empty halls, it still felt like they were there.

It still felt like home.

**Author's Note:**

> the song featured in this is an old scottish folk song; you can find a recording of this version of the song here: [[x]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pSBodmHxT18)


End file.
